


Itsy-Bitsy-Teeny-Meanie

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's Spider-Man Bingo Oneshots [3]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, No Sex, POV Wade Wilson, Spider-Man Bingo 2021, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Spider-Man Bingo prompt: [Personal Trainer]Wade is in a serious funk. He's rejecting Spider-Man's calls, wasting time vegging out in front of the TV and even snapping at Al. Enough is enough. One day, a perky, little twink called Peter zooms into Wade's life. He's gorgeous and peppy with a mouth like a gutter. But who is he? And why is he so invested in Wade?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: MissMoochy's Spider-Man Bingo Oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187987
Comments: 12
Kudos: 156
Collections: Spider-Man Bingo 2021





	Itsy-Bitsy-Teeny-Meanie

Somebody knocked on the door but Wade saw no reason to get up from the couch. He was snuggly and cosy, with a family-size bag of Cheetos. Now half-empty. Or was it half-full?

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Al called from the kitchen.

Wade didn’t move his gaze from the television screen. Jamie Oliver was doing something with egg whites. “Nah.”

“You gonna let an old, blind lady answer the door?”

“Yeah. I figured you could use the exercise.”

“What if it’s a serial killer?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not the seventies, anymore! You don’t have evil guys knocking on doors and asking to borrow sugar. Or strapping fake plaster casts around their leg and getting chicks to take a look in their trunk. And even if it is a serial killer, so what? Why do you care? You’re old. Everything that’s gonna happen to you has already happened. You—”

“Alright, alright, I’ll answer it.”

“Love you!”

She made her way to the front door. He heard her talking to someone, a man with the sort of peppy voice that belonged in a car insurance commercial. He assumed she’d close the door on his face but instead, she heard them exchange a few more words and he stepped inside, still chattering away.

“Al? What did Dennis Rader want?”

He heard her slippers shuffling away. “It’s your friend, Peter!”

“I don’t have a friend called Peter! I don’t have friends and if I did, they’d have cool names like Jack or Biff. Not Peter.”

Wade lifted his head a fraction to see the mysterious perky-voiced Peter standing in the living room doorway. Huh. He was short, lean, dressed in a baggy t-shirt with a drawing of an anatomical heart on it. Two enormous brown eyes hiding under a mop of wavy hair. He had to be in his twenties. Wade had no clue who the fuck this joker was.

“Yeah, can I help you?” He wasn’t masked but his face didn’t scare the guy away. To repeat his earlier thought:  _ Huh. _

“I sure hope so!” Peter chirped. “I lied to get past that old lady. I’m here for you, Wade. Spider-Man sent me.”

That got his attention. He didn’t know what this guy wanted, but if Spider-Man thought he was okay, that was good enough for Wade. Spider-Man had a good head on his shoulders. He had a good everything. Sense of morality. Keen brain. An ass that wouldn’t quit and a thirst for justice that wouldn’t quit either. Wade wasn’t, you know, in love with the guy, but they were buddies. But lately, Wade had been screening Spidey’s calls. Spider-Man had a burner phone that he used when communicating with Wade. But lately, Wade had been in a funk and he’d rejected every one of Spidey’s calls. He didn’t mean to ignore him. But Spidey didn’t need Wade buzz-killing the good vibes.

“Spider-Man? You know Spider-Man?” There was no reason why Spider-Man wouldn’t know this guy. He knew ol’ Webhead had friends in high (and low) places. But this guy looked too innocuous to be associated with mutates.

“I know him well. I used to, uh—” He made a rectangle with his thumbs and forefingers, held it up to his eyes and clicked his tongue. What a goofball. Wade hid his smile. 

“Oh! You took his photo — wait, do you work at _ The Daily Bugle?” _

“Yes! I mean, I did. I left, actually.”   


“You’re, um, Peter Parker,” Wade said. He’d clipped a few Spidey photos out of the paper in the past, what of it? “You’re a great photographer. Seriously.”

“Thanks, Wade!” Peter squealed, apparently ecstatic that his portfolio passed Wade’s muster. 

The whole conversation felt very surreal.

“So, Peter Parker. What are you doing here?”

“I’m your life coach!”

* * *

Wade grinned, shaking his head. “I don’t need a life coach. I don’t  _ want _ a life coach.”   


“Well, you don’t have a choice!” Peter trilled. “You’re stuck with me! I am an excellent motivator! I’m going to help you get out of your bad mood and back to, uh, whatever it is that you normally do. And I don’t even charge!”

Wade stared at him but Peter didn’t budge. He continued standing there, straight-backed and smiling brightly. It was probably best to nip this in the bud.

“I appreciate what you’re doing here, sweetheart—”

“Peter,”

“—Whatever. But it’s a joke. You can’t motivate me. You’re — you’re adorable. You’re like a hybrid of a kitten and puppy. Except, instead of being some godless abomination, you’re actually pretty cute.”   


“Thank you for the compliment.”   


“So, why don’t you walk that perky ass back to Candyland, okay?”

Peter grinned, a little crooked side smirk and then — something happened. Wade wasn’t sure exactly what it was. He just knew that one second, he was standing there, the next, he was up off the couch and pressed against the wall. 

He gasped, stared down at Peter through bug-eyes. Peter straightened his skinny arms and Wade felt himself being lifted, his feet now leaving the floor. Peter was holding him aloft, his smooth, soft hand a hard pressure, keeping Wade pinned to the wall like a butterfly. Peter gazed up at him through vibrant brown eyes. He was having to stand on tip-toes just to keep Wade aloft.

“Point taken,” Wade gasped and Peter smiled wider, his cheeks dimpling prettily. “Very much taken. Let me down? Please?”

Peter dropped him and Wade fell to the floor. It didn’t hurt but he had to admit his pride was a little bruised. “I met a woman who was a bit like you. Once. Man, she was a  _ bitch. _ She had super-strength, too. You ever heard of a little place called Weapon X?”

“You talk a lot,” Peter told him. “But you don’t say anything of any value. You can’t distract me, Wade. I’m here to help you. Now grab a broom. We’re going to get this place straightened out.”

* * *

  
The one mercy in all of this shit was that Al was blind and couldn’t see Wade on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. He didn't think he would have been able to tolerate her smugness. It took hours, cleaning the dump that he and Al called home. Peter was a fussy guy, and he had particular ideas on how clean a house should be. He even said it was extra important that Wade didn’t leave shit lying around, because Al might trip on it and hurt herself. 

He made Wade tidy up rubbish from the floor. Do laundry. Dust. 

“This is child labour!” Wade whined, from his place on the floor. Dried blood was a bitch to get out of the rug.

Peter glanced over from his perch. He was sitting lotus-style on the arm of the couch. It didn’t look comfortable but he seemed happy enough, scrolling on his phone. “You’re not a child. Although you’re acting like one.”

“We’re all somebody’s child. What do you get out of this, anyway?”

Peter jumped up from the couch. He’d taken his shoes off and his lightbulb-patterned socks were freaking adorable. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm. Let me see that floor. Hm, is that blood? You want club soda for that.”

“How do  _ you _ know that?”

* * *

Wade wasn’t sure what power Peter had. He was clearly a mutate or mutant or whatever the latest term was. Super-powered. He denied it when Wade asked. But come on. Nobody’s that strong unless they tampered with something they shouldn’t have. But Peter had a power all of his own. He just had influence over Wade. He would tell him to do something and Wade would instinctively go to do it. Wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the cute face. Or that sweet, optimistic voice. Maybe he was addicted to the attention.

But he had a sobering moment, as he folded shirts. This was his home! He should make a stand! Assert his dominance over this weird, invader twink.

So, he went on strike. He lounged back on the couch, with a copy of the  _ Bugle. _ Take that, Parker.

Peter reappeared from one of the other rooms. “Having a coffee break?”

“Yeah.”

“The house is still pretty messy. How about you put the paper down and help me with the kitchen?”

He turned a page. “I don’t think so.”

Peter snatched the paper out of his hands and Wade protested. “If you don’t get up off that couch, I’m going to roll up this newspaper and shove it so far up your ass, you’ll be coughing up the classifieds by supper! Are we clear?”

What the fuck just happened? “Yes?”

“Good!” Peter smiled. “Now, get that butt up and meet me in the kitchen.”

* * *

Peter wasn't showing any signs of leaving. He left every evening but he always came back.

“I’m going to help you get your life on track, Wade.”

On Tuesday, Peter took him grocery shopping. He bounded along, ahead of him, while Wade begrudgingly pushed a trolley and contemplated running Peter over. Peter filled the trolley with vegetables and other grim stuff.

“I’ve got healing power! I can eat what I want!”   


“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. And I still don’t trust it. Your healing powers won’t work as effectively if you’re malnourished or not getting your necessary vitamins. I bet your guts look like the bottom of a birdcage!”

“If you want to see my guts, you only have to ask,” Wade said, and winked. Peter just sighed and threw even more veg into the trolley.

* * *

On Tuesday, Peter made him volunteer with him at a soup kitchen. He said that thinking about other people might help Wade distract himself from his own problems. It was actually pretty cool. He got to spend the day, cracking jokes with Peter and serving up grub. Wade wore his baseball cap pulled low, but nobody gave his scars a second glance.

* * *

On Wednesday, Peter took him and Al for a picnic in the park. Wade thought he liked that day best, because he got to see Peter in shorts. They snacked and then had a spirited game of Frisbee while Al lounged on the grass, listening to music on her headphones. Peter was definitely superpowered. Nobody was that naturally athletic. He effortlessly bounded after the flying disk, executed perfect jumps in the air. Never dropped or missed it, even when Wade threw his arm out.

* * *

On Thursday, Peter came by the duplex, wearing a chunky backpack. They spent the afternoon gaming together. Wade asked if this counted towards his treatment. But Peter said it was important to take time to do relaxing hobbies. They lost hours together, trying different games. Wade won as often as he lost. They were well-matched.

* * *

On Friday, Peter took him to the gym. He’d suggested it earlier that week and Wade had immediately refused. Peter had jumped up and down on the balls of his feet, enthusing about the benefits of exercise and endorphins and core training and a lot of other stuff that filtered in through one of Wade’s ears and out through the other. Peter had seemed so excited and Wade had hemmed and hawed. But he’d eventually agreed. How could you say no to that face?

So, here they were. At the gym.

Wade was in the locker room, trying to figure out how to use one of the gym’s tiny padlocks. It was too small for his big, clumsy fingers and he cursed. He was self-conscious, lurking about in his heavy hoody. But he felt a tap on his shoulder and he swung around.

Peter was stood behind him, swimming in yet another oversized hoody. He stared, bug-eyed. “Oh, sorry. I’m meeting my friend here and you...sort of look like him, from behind.”   


Friend? Peter thought they were friends? Wade squashed down the rising nugget of hope in his chest. Perfect Peter wouldn’t want to be friends with  _ him. _

“It’s me,” he whispered and risked a glance around. There was only one other guy in the locker room and he had his back to them. Wade pressed the button on his wristwatch and felt the static crackle over his face.

“Oh my gosh! It  _ is _ you! How did you do that? You looked totally different!”

“It’s called an Image Inducer,” he explained. “It’s like a cloaking device. It makes a hologram that covers my face and body. Makes me look like a normal dude. I don’t wanna attract attention.”

“Let me see the disguise again.” Peter demanded.   


“Sure. I’m actually gonna keep it on during the sesh.” Wade pressed the button and the Image Inducer buzzed again. “Don’t want to make all the pretty gym bunnies vom.”

But Peter was shaking his head. “You said you don’t want to attract attention but you picked a male model for your disguise. You should have gone with somebody more average. Wait… Why are you grinning?”

“Dude, that’s literally me. That’s what I looked like before cancer rammed its dick up my guts. You tihkn I look like a model? Hang on, did Spidey tell you about the cancer thing?”

“He… He mentioned it,” Peter admitted, looking a little thrown. He hadn’t taken his gaze of Wade’s face. “I didn’t know that you used to look like that.”

Why the hell did he care? Why was he making that big-eyed, lip-trembly, pouty face like he was about to burst into tears?

“Uh, Peter, I w—”

“I’m going to get dressed. I’ll meet you by the weights, okay?” Peter said thickly, avoiding Wade’s eye.

“Okay…?”

* * *

Peter pounced on him by the dumbbells. He was a little disappointed that the boy wasn’t in shorts again, but holy hell, his black sweats were fucking  _ tight. _ His vest top was thin, white and showed off his lean, lightly-muscled arms.

“So, what’s the plan, Stan? Are we gonna do some gentle cardiovascular exercises?” Wade said innocently.

“Oh, no. Wade Wilson, I am going to  _ put you to work.” _

It was only through remarkable mental discipline (and thinking about the time he had to help Al out of the bath) that Wade was able to stop himself from popping a boner, right there and then.

* * *

“Shit…” Wade gasped. He blinked sweat out of his eyes. He should have worn a headband. It would have looked goofy as fuck, but it would have stopped the sweat from dripping into his eyes. One of the downsides of having no eyebrows.

But Peter was there, with a small handtowel and he stretched up, gently mopping Wade’s brow.

“Come on, keep it up. We’re not stopping until you’re dripping wet.”

It was a credit to Peter’s exercise programme that Wade couldn’t muster up the energy to fire back with some flirty retort. “Didn’t — think— I could get — tired—” he huffed, tightening his grip on the handlebars. He hadn’t exercised this hard in ages. Didn’t seem to be much point. He relied more on his guns (the Glocks, not his arms) to get the job done. But it felt good to burn some energy. He’d like using the weights. But this fucking bike. Bikes suck, man.

“You’re full of surprises,” Peter said. “Ten more minutes, then you can have a break.”

“Five—”

“Seven.”

“Three.”

“Seven and I’ll give you a bit more abuse. Seeing as how you get a kick out of it.”

“Seven.” Wade agreed. “Gimme all you got, sunshine.”

Peter bounded up and leant on one of the handlebars of the stationary bike so he could whisper in Wade’s ear.

“Wade, listen to me. You’re going to keep gripping the handlebars as hard you hold your dick whe you touch yourself at night, and you’re going to keep pumping your legs until _ I _ tell you to stop. What you want is immaterial. You do what  _ I _ say, when I say it. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” he croaked. “Crystal clear. More.”

“More? You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you? Look at you, sweating away for little old me. You want to impress me. You want me to see that display of strength and get hard for you. You want to show me you’ve got stamina. You think you could throw me down a bed and show me a good time? Bend me over and fuck me hard?”

“Yeah, I fucking would, I’d—” He swallowed a hot, dry breath. “I’d fuck you so hard.”   


“You won’t get the chance,” Peter whispered and then his phone beeped. “Whoops! And that’s seven minutes! Very good. Let’s go and get you some water.”

Peter pressed a few buttons and the belt slowed and then stopped. Wade climbed off it, with Peter offering him his arm. He was tiny and slight, but his arm felt rock-solid and reassuring, strong enough for Wade to lean on it.

Wade walked bandy-legged, his limbs aching but his healing power soon chased the feeling away. Healing powers couldn’t do anything about the aching erection in his sweats, though. He sighed. Tugged his t-shirt hem a little lower.

Peter was very pleased with Wade’s progress. Peter ran back to wipe down the machine while Wade glugged a bottle of water. It felt good to have achieved something. And not to sound sentimental, but he’d forgotten what it was like to hang around with somebody new. Mooching around the duplex with Al wasn’t the same. Peter was a breath of fresh air. Just being in his presence invigorated him.   
  


* * *

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Wade asked them as they waited outside for a cab. “You’ve had me clean my place. Exercise until my legs feel like they’re gonna drop off—”

“That seems like an exaggeration.”

“Nah, but I’m saying — what’s next for the agenda? You fixin’ to convert me to some kooky religion? Make me go door to door? You’d tell me if you were a Mormon, right?”

“Can confirm, not a Mormon. Actually, I’ve got nothing planned. I’ve given you a kick up the ass and now it’s time for me to go and sort my own life out.”

He was leaving? Now? Wade felt his face cycle through several expressions. He bet that his own  _ big-eyed, lip-trembly, pouty face _ wasn’t as pretty as Peter’s. He settled on politely interested. “So, what are you going to be doing now that you won’t be babysitting me?”

“I have a whole heap of stuff that I need to be getting on with. But this has been really great, Wade. I hope you know that those things I said. The cruel things. I didn’t mean them—”

“I know you didn’t, I can tell you’re a total badass beneath that little kittenish face of yours. But I know you’re a decent guy. And I know you said it to motivate me. And it worked!”

“Even so, I feel like I should tell you. You’re pretty decent, yourself. No, I mean it! If you could see yourself how others see you—”

Ah. bless him. He was clueless, wasn’t he? He had no idea what a fuck-up he was dealing with.

“There’s nobody. Peter, I appreciate you trying to lift my spirits or whatever, but there’s nobody. I’ve got nobody. I’ve got Al, but I think she just sticks around ‘cause she needs me.”

Peter looked far too sad for Wade’s liking. He racked his brains for a goofy joke to make him smile but there...there was nothing he could say. 

“That’s not such a bad thing. It’s nice to be needed!”

_ But I need you, _ Wade wanted to say to him. 

“Let’s agree to disagree, okay? I think you’re more loved than you know. I think you’ve got friends who care about you...and are invested in your happiness. Even if they don’t say it. Even if they’re not always around.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, time for me to get going. Look after yourself, Wade.” He held out his arms and Wade hugged him, but just before Wade was about to pull away, Peter craned his neck to kiss his cheek. It was soft and feathery-light and he immediately missed the feeling of those lips the second they left his skin. Peter strode off without a backwards glance, curls bouncing, shifting his backpack to his other arm. Wade watched him walk away. It was like watching the sun setting in the horizon. Feeling the heat leave the earth. But he felt a warm glow in his chest. Peter cared. For some reason, he’d actually looked past the scars and seen a man. He’d given Wade exactly what he needed. Life was pretty good.


End file.
